Chapter 12: Lancing old wounds

Nottingham could hardly believe his ears. Had Sara just implied that she was willing to hear how he felt? He surreptitiously pinched himself to see if he had fallen asleep watching the movie and was now dreaming.

"Go ahead and say it," Sara smiled at the shocked face in front of her.

"Say what?" Ian felt his breath catch in his throat. Did she really want him to tell her how much he loved her?

"I know you want to say it. It's written all over your face." Pez teased, enjoying the look of consternation his face.

"What is written all over my face?" Nottingham found himself stalling. He had not expected her to be willing to hear that she was all he could ever hope for, and now that she was, he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"Who are you, and what did you do with Sara Pezzini?" Sara said, then gave in to the urge to laugh her head off.

The bottom of his stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees as Nottingham contemplated the close call he had just had. Sara didn't want to hear about the love he had almost professed. Ian gave her a sickly smile in return, but fortunately she did not notice as she had closed her eyes while laughing.

"Well you have to admit that it didn't sound like you. I was wondering if you should have had the wine with dinner, it might have reacted adversely with your pain medication." Ian pulled his dignity around him like the trench coat he was beginning to miss.

"I'll have to give you that one, but I don't think it was the wine. I did a lot of thinking in the hospital. Not much else to do there, you know." Sara rolled her eyes, "So I thought about all kinds of stuff."

"Such as?" Ian asked hopefully.

"Oh, just the things someone who's had a near-death experience contemplates, I guess. Life, death, family, friends, the nature of the universe, that sort of thing." Sara shrugged.

"Dare I hope that may become the norm instead of the exception?" Nottingham sighed, thinking they still had quite a way to go.

"As disturbing as I find the concept, it seems to have become a habit." Pez grimaced. Things had been much simpler back when she had been consumed by her job.

"Is it so very unpleasant?" Ian asked softly. He had noticed the face.

"Everyone in my life dies, Nottingham. I use work to keep from dwelling on all the people that I've lost. I feel abandoned and alone, and worse, that somehow it's my fault that my life is like this." Sara stood up, too irritated to sit still, and began to pace. The blanket dragged behind her like the train of some ridiculously oversized dress. "So yeah, thinking too much sucks ass."

"Oh Sara, did you learn nothing from your time with the Witchblade? Those you love are not forever lost; they are waiting for you on the other side of the Veil." Ian caught her hand as she passed, turning her so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

"But they're not here NOW," Sara wailed, "and I miss them so much."

One hand came up to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed away the tear trailing from her eye. "I am here, and I promise, I am not going anywhere."

"How can you know that?" Sara asked, her voice full of pain and anger, She shoved both her fists against Nottingham's chest as the tears began to fall in earnest. "How the fuck can you possibly promise something like that?"

"Love is stronger than death Sara." Ian said softly, his eyes filled with the peace that comes only from working through great pain. "I will never leave you."

Sara said nothing, wet green eyes searching solemn brown for long moments. She could see that he was serious, that he believed. In that moment, Pez knew that he really truly loved her. Her. It was the proverbial straw on the camel's back. Sara dropped her head onto his chest and cried with the abandon of a heartbroken child because she could. Ian would not judge her, he would only support her and understand, and that was enough.

All the grief she had held in, all the fear, all the pain, it came pouring out like the festering poison it was. Her knees buckled, and Ian lowered them both to the futon. He held her in his lap, which no one had done since her father died, so many years ago.

Pez cried until her eyes burned and her head ached. She felt hollow and light, empty really. She was vaguely aware of the hands stroking her back and the soothing murmurs against her ear. Exhausted, she let Ian lull her to sleep.

Ian smiled down at the top of her head, which was snuggled against his chest. He was, quite possibly, more proud of Sara than he had ever been. It took great strength to carry such burdens alone, but it took a great deal more to share them. He was sorry for her pain, but glad to see her begin to heal.

His shirt was soaked from Sara's tears and the clammy fabric was uncomfortable. Careful not to waken her, Ian shifted the brunette head to a pillow and eased out from under her. He pulled the blanket snugly around her shoulders and turned to peel the damp fabric off. Just as he had the shirt halfway over his head, the distinct humm of his cell phone vibrating in his jacket reached his ears.

Fumbling, Ian jerked the cotton turtleneck off his head and grabbed for his jacket. "Hello?"

"Are you still with Sara Pezzini?" the suave and urbane voice was rendered a bit tinny by the receiver, but there could be no doubt as to whom the speaker was.

"Yes I am. She is sleeping on her couch. The bed appears to hold bad connotations for her at the moment, as you had anticipated. In fact, she has done little today except sleep. There have been brief bursts of energy, but they are swift to end." Ian said softly, watching Sara to see if she would stir.

"She called no one?" Irons seemed surprised.

"No sir. The only thing she has done today has been a little grocery shopping and watched a movie." Ian could not understand why Kenneth would think that Sara would have been on the phone. She rarely used it for anything other than to call in delivery orders.

"Did she give you any indication that she has seen the tape yet?" as Irons asked, the first question clicked for Ian.

No need to ask which tape Irons was talking about; Kenneth thought that Sara would be calling in favors to start the process for hunting down the White Bulls. "No sir. I do not think she has seen it yet."

"On what do you base that assumption?" Irons came as close as he ever did to snapping.

"If she had viewed the brief documentary, surely she would have confronted me about it." Nottingham fought back a sigh.

"Why should she come to you?" There was suspicion and a twinge of possessiveness in that hissing question.

"I seem to be her usual target when something happens she does not understand." This time Ian let his exasperation and frustration at being Sara Pezzini's personal whipping boy color his response.

"An unenviable position to be sure," Irons tone was coolly amused. "And Ian, make sure she sees that tape. Soon."

"Yes sir."

As soon as Ian hit the end button, he began pacing and muttering under his breath. If he did as he had been told, their relationship would be over. She would never ever forgive him for keeping the tape from her all these months. Hell, years. The tape had been in Irons hands since one of his people had attempted to air it on his television station back when James Pezzini had been killed.

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Promises to the Dead

McCarty couldn't sleep. He was too upset. It was unprofessional of him, but no matter how many times he reminded himself of that, it did not make the least bit of difference. This case was getting to him. Ok, had gotten to him. His objectivity was shot to Hell.

"Damn it," Jake muttered as he threw back the covers he had so optimistically gotten under two hours ago.

The bug in his office was not sensitive enough to pick up whispers, if it were set that sensitive; any conversation would have to be picked out of the sounds of fabric rustling and other 'background' noises. So the evidence against Dante was not as strong as he had hoped. In fact, the tape mostly made the captain sound like a concerned superior who was worried about his people.

It wasn't enough to get a conviction, even with the files from Vannoy. On something like this, you really had to have the offenders hemmed in with facts until they didn't have any room to maneuver. Otherwise they wiggled right off the hook and back into the cesspool they came from.

Bile churned in McCarty's gut at the idea of this bunch of bastards getting away. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep, and he knew it. He pulled on a pair of sweat pants and headed for the pile of paperwork he had sprawled across the bar in his kitchen. He might as well work if he was going to be up anyway.

Sitting on top of his files was a black plastic videocassette case.

Jake froze. That had not been there when he went to bed. Someone had clearly broken in while he was lying in his bed trying to sleep. How the Hell had they managed that without him hearing? McCarty eased back into his room, knowing better than to search a darkened apartment without a gun, wondering if his intruder was still here.

Glock .9mm in the ready position, Jake searched every inch of his apartment. He found nothing out of place except for the videotape, sitting in its position of honor on the bar. Still confused about the whole thing, McCarty dusted the case for fingerprints. Surprise, surprise, there were none.

Leaving his latex gloves on, Jake opened the case. Inside was a videotape, one of the thirty minute kind that film crews used during the eighties. Wondering just what he was going to see, McCarty fed the tape into his VCR. There were a few moments of anticlimactic static, and then the recording began.

"My name is Officer James Pezzini, New York Police Department, badge number 7945." The man speaking seemed at the end of his rope. Desperate, tired, but unwilling to back down. It was a look McCarty could all too easily imagine on Sara's face.

"The date is February 22, 1984. If you're watching this ... it means that I'm already dead. And if I am, the likely reason is I've been working to expose a corrupt secret society within the New York P.D. They call themselves the White Bulls."

Jake snapped his finger down on the pause button. He didn't want to miss anything, and just now the blood was pounding in his ears so loudly, he thought he might. He paced back and forth in front of the frozen image, one hand running distractedly through his hair. On a good day the spiky blonde strands stood out from his head like an electrician who'd grabbed a hot line. By the time he had paced off some of his excitement and pushed the play button again, McCarty looked like someone had been dragging him through hedges, backward.

"They rule by intimidation. They, they abuse the badge in every possible way. And this" James Pezzini paused to hold up a spent shell casing, " is their trademark. They use this round when the Bulls want to assassinate one of their enemies. If one of their members finds this shell at a murder scene, he'll desist in his investigation of that crime. And they're currently in a renaissance, led by this deadly band of new young recruits ... most notably this rising young sergeant by the name of Bruno Dante."

Jake hit the pause button again as everything fell into place. The White Bulls, using Tommy Gallo as the triggerman, had killed James Pezzini. It was too bad Gallo had taken that little walk off the balcony. The criminal element had damn little loyalty in these situations; he probably would have spilled his guts to remand his sentence. It was almost a certainty that Dante had given Gallo the job himself.

What if Tommy hadn't committed suicide? What if Gallo had been pushed to keep what he knew from coming out in a trial? Who else had they killed to keep their secrets? Apparently there were others who knew what was going on, but with examples being made like that, how would he ever get them to come forward?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jake buried his head in his hands. He was going to need help, and his original choice, Sara Pezzini, was too close to this one. She would have absolutely no objectivity with this. In fact, he'd be hard pressed to keep the fiery detective from capping Dante right in the squad room.

Jake stared at the screen, memorizing the face of a man who knew he was going to die for doing what was right. James Pezzini had made this tape before McCarty had even thought about going into the Academy. Hell, in '84 he would have been a freshman in high school. But it didn't change the feeling in the blonde's gut, the one that was screaming that they had all let this man down.

"I won't let it happen to her. I'll get those bastards for you, and I'll get your daughter out of this alive, I swear." Jake whispered to the screen. He didn't find anything odd in what he was doing; he had made a lot of promises to the dead during the course of his career. So far, he had kept every one.